


Fucked My Way Up to the Top

by sunken_ships (sunken__ships)



Series: write like you're running out of time [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Sex, Face-Fucking, Hate Sex, M/M, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, alexander hamilton using sex to get what he wants, ambiguous office jobs don't ask, but not that rough, room where it happens alexander is my favourite alexander, the dinner table bargain is still yet to happen just go with it, thomas jefferson is oblivious, yes it's modern day but old politics if u get me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10137308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunken__ships/pseuds/sunken_ships
Summary: Inspired by the line: "Hate the sin, love the sinner."Alexander Hamilton wants to get his debt plan through. No, he needs to get it through.There's just one obstacle in the way. A tall, obnoxious, asshole of an obstacle.So Alexander comes up with a plan.This might be one of his best plans yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey! so for those of u who aren't aware, this is actually just a fic that i recently uploaded (called Love to Hate), but from ham's perspective. if u want jefferson's perspective (the OG perspective, it was written first), then check that out, but this can 100% be read as a standalone fic.  
> for those who have read Love to Hate - thanks for coming back! i really enjoyed writing both ham and tjeff's perspectives for this. there's kinda lil bonus scenes before and after that i added in with this fic, so i hope u like them!  
> if u want burr's side of the events that transpire before and after the ~main event~ of this, then check out An Enigma, which is also a part of this series.  
> and yes, the title is a lana del rey song. i'm terrible at titles, i hate them, so that's what ya got.  
> hope you enjoy! xx

**hate the sin, love the sinner.**

 

Alexander knows that he has to get his debt plan through, and he knows that he’s willing to do whatever it takes. But every single one of his plans that he begins to formulate seems to fall flat. This is a delicate situation, and if he can’t succeed, then he may as well step down from politics altogether. And with each day that ticks by, Alexander’s stomach grows tighter and tighter with anxiety. He can’t think of a plan that he knows would work. He can’t take chances here; it _has_ to work. Every idea he’s had so far is what other people would call _classic Hamilton_ : they’ve all involved some kind of argument, some kind of lengthy blog post that would hopefully gain traction and gain great renown. Some form of attack. Guns blazing, torches burning.

But then Alexander sits with Aaron Burr one day at lunch. Now, Alexander doesn’t like Burr all that much. And Burr doesn’t like Alexander all that much. But somehow, sometimes, they find themselves sitting together at lunch.

This one particular time, Alexander happens to glance up from his laptop to see Burr smirking down at his phone. “What?” Alexander says instantly.

Burr’s smile drops, and he frowns at Alexander. “What?”

“What are you smiling about?”

Burr shrugs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just found out some good news.”

Alexander humphs at the vague answer and focuses again on his laptop, but his typing pauses once more. “What good news?”

Burr’s eyes flick up again, and he raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’m curious; sue me.”

Burr lowers his phone and sighs. “It’s really not interesting. There was this chair I wanted on eBay, but some guy kept outbidding me. So I contacted him, under a different name, and, long story short, convinced him to buy a different chair. And now I have the chair that I want. Satisfied?”

Alexander blinks. For anyone else, their first question might be _You went to all that effort for a chair?_ – but Alexander is the last person who could criticise Burr for going to abnormal lengths to get what he wants. No, the question Alexander has for Burr is: “Why didn’t you just outbid him?”

“I didn’t want to spend that much money.”

“He might have stopped soon.”

“But then I would have had to pay more money than I’m paying now.”

“You could have just contacted him under _your_ name and told him to stop it.”

Burr gives Alexander a look. “And what do you think are the chances of that actually working?”

Alexander pulls back, mildly offended. “What do you mean? Of course that would have worked.”

“Yeah, maybe. But then you’d have gotten into a big fight with a stranger over emails about a chair.” Burr nods to himself and rises from his chair, picking up his coffee. “Not exactly dignified.” He takes a sip. “I’ll see you later, Alexander.”

Alexander watches him go. And suddenly, all the pieces start to fall into place.

 _No_ , he thinks to himself. _I can’t do that. Surely not. That would be…_

He smiles to himself. _That would be so wrong. So, so wrong._

It takes a few weeks to formulate the details, and it takes a while for him to wrap his head around the fact that _oh my God, I’m actually gonna do this_. It’s an unorthodox plan, but this plan, as absurd as it is, seems more fool-proof than any other plan he’s had. If he wants to get his debt plan through, he has to be prepared to get his hands dirty.

 

Alexander wakes up on the day of execution with a smile on his face and determination seated deep in his bones. He makes sure to grab some lube and condoms – hiding them very well in his backpack, of course – and enough change for a lot of coffee and energy drinks. It’s going to be an energetic night.

 

He knows exactly how to push Thomas Jefferson’s buttons. For his plan to work, he has to argue with Jefferson enough that the man gets distracted from his work.

It’s not hard. Arguing with Jefferson comes as a second nature. They irritate their colleagues with their ridiculous rows, snapping at each other with unbridled loathing. And the more Alexander riles Jefferson up, the more irked Jefferson becomes, and so the longer the arguments last. They’re not sophisticated or mature arguments – at one point they start arguing about the microwave in the break room – but that doesn’t matter. It’s almost painfully easy.

 

The cleaning staff is used to Alexander being there after hours. And they’re used to him still being there after they’re gone. The security guard leaves him alone as well. Alexander has complete control over the office at night. Usually this thought barely occurs to him, as he’s too wrapped up in his work to notice.

But tonight, he’s well aware of this fact. And he’s well aware that, this time, he’s not alone. Because Jefferson spent all day arguing, he wouldn’t have gotten any of his work done. Which means that he must still be here, at the office. Just like Alexander planned.

Alexander slips a condom and the lube into his pocket, supressing a shudder of mild disgust at what he’ll be using those items for, and, leaving his backpack, tie, and jacket in his office, wanders down the hall to Jefferson’s office. He doesn’t knock; he just opens the door.

Sure enough, there Jefferson sits at his desk, looking a little worse for wear, his tie loosened and a few buttons undone. His hair isn’t quite as flawless as it usually is.

He’s tired. A blind man could see it. Alexander doesn’t blame him. It’s very late.

Jefferson looks up at the sound of Alexander’s arrival. “Hamilton?” he says, sounding unable to believe his eyes. Alexander doesn’t quite know why he’s – maybe he never realised just how late Alexander can stay to work.

Alexander leans against the doorjamb. It’s not instinct to be nice to Jefferson, but Alexander realises quickly that, for this to work, he can’t just dive in head-first, without preamble. He has to lead up to it. It has to seem somewhat natural, after all. Not like some evil concocted plan. Although ‘evil’ is hardly the word for it. ‘Concocted plan’, yes. ‘Evil’, no. “Jefferson,” he replies easily, crossing his arms.

Jefferson’s hand goes to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want now?” he says exhaustedly.

 _Be nice, Alex_ , Alexander thinks to himself, sliding into the room. “What, I can’t just visit my work colleague?” He smiles. If there’s one thing Alexander knows how to do, it’s play people. It’s as easy as breathing for him. And so he knows that his smile isn’t too cheerful, isn’t too friendly – there’s still some venom there, still some cutting sarcasm. Being too friendly would scare Jefferson off, after all.

“What do you want, Hamilton?” Jefferson says. “I’m just about to go home. You’ve already eaten up enough of my time today, and I’m exhausted.”

 _That’s the idea_. “Stressed?” Alexander offers with a raised eyebrow.

Jefferson pauses. “Of course,” he says, sounding unsure. “Isn’t everyone here in a perpetual state of stress?”

Alexander doesn’t reply with more than a shrug and a mumbled sound of agreement, instead choosing the time to process Jefferson’s reaction. Compiling information as he goes. How Jefferson reacts to things Alexander says; how he behaves when he’s this tired. What draws him to people. How he’s turned on.

 _Oh my God_ , Alexander thinks for the millionth time that day, _I’m actually going to sleep with Thomas Jefferson_.

Well, if Jefferson takes the bait, that is.

He stops his meandering a few feet from Jefferson, his hands in his pockets. Not too close. Not yet.

Jefferson stands, and Alexander lets his eyes explore Jefferson in a way he’d never really done before. And, yeah, okay, now that he’s trying to put himself in the right mind, Jefferson is undeniably attractive. From an objective viewpoint – if such a thing exists – he’s hot. He’s tall, he has a nice beard, a slim waist and broad shoulders. He obviously works out, takes pride in his appearance. His fashion choices often leave much to be desired, but the last thing Alexander is worried about right now is clothing. In fact, it would just be better if all that clothing was on the floor.

And then, just as Alexander is warming up to the idea, Jefferson opens his mouth and ruins it all. “Are you here to bother me, Hamilton? Is this your bedroom? Do you want me to leave? I assume you sleep here.”

 _Jefferson is hot,_ Alexander chants to himself. _Jefferson is hot, don’t think about the personality, just focus on the body_.

Alexander feels his pulse jump with anger at the jab, and he has to take a moment to keep himself in check. No arguing. Be nice.

He shrugs. “No. I just heard that you were here. Came to say hi.”

Well, _that_ was a stupid thing to say. ‘Heard that you were here’? No one else is in the building.

Luckily, Jefferson doesn’t pick up on it, and just snorts. Damn, he _must_ be tired. “I didn’t realise that that was a thing we did now.”

“Well, why not?” And yes, _there we go, Alex, that’s more like it_. Leave him guessing. Leave him curious. Draw him in.

Alexander can see that Jefferson is definitely curious now. His eyes watch him, and Alexander can see the cogs turning behind his eyes. He’s trying so hard to understand what’s going on here. Alexander lets him think. There’s no way he’ll figure it out until it’s too late, anyway.

The thought brings a slight smile to Alexander’s lips, and he sees, just subtly, Jefferson’s lips press together in thought.

And then Jefferson breathes out sharply, and looks back to his desk. Alexander allows himself a victorious grin – but only for a second, and then he schools his expression once again.

It’s a reaction. It’s a positive reaction, in Alexander’s case. Jefferson is sensing the shift in mood. His exhausted mind and body is relaxing his guards, making him more suggestible.

“As stupid as you are, Hamilton,” Jefferson says with a sigh, his hands brushing over some papers on his desk – he’s trying to find something to do, “you’re not an idiot. I think you know the answer to that.”

Well, yes. There’s thousands of answers as to _why not_. Alexander chuckles, and Jefferson looks back to him with an expression that Alexander can’t quite place, but knows is definitely the kind of expression that means the situation is leaning in his favour.

Jefferson shakes his head, and starts packing up his belongings.

Okay, good. The seed has been planted. A suggestion that there’s some kind of connection between them. A connection of more than mutual hatred. Fire doesn’t always have to destroy, after all.

What else can Alexander do? Maybe plant another seed. “How’s Madison?” he asks, but instantly knows that’s the wrong path. He was hoping to bring in a suggestion about his debt plan, but no. Still too direct. Mentioning Jefferson’s closest friend won’t put him in the mood for anything Alexander is looking for.

_Just stick with the plan. Don’t try to improvise._

So he steps closer, as Jefferson replies, “Fine.” Alexander sees an opportunity, and seizes it, letting his eyes land on Jefferson’s ass – not a terrible view, if he has to be honest – just as Jefferson glances over his shoulder. Alexander flicks his eyes back to Jefferson’s face, making sure that Jefferson notices where his eyes had been.

Jefferson stands up sharply, taken aback, and Alexander resists another grin. That worked _perfectly_.

He lets his eyes wander down Jefferson’s throat. Can he picture himself sucking hickeys there? Biting down, soothing the marks with his tongue? Feeling Jefferson’s moans vibrate through the skin?

The prospect doesn’t make his stomach turn as much as he thought it would. That’s a plus, then. A weird, unforseen plus, but a plus all the same.

“What are you doing?” Jefferson says suddenly, and Alexander blinks slowly, making it seem like he was distracted.

“Hmm?” he says.

Jefferson’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, Alexander wonders if he’s gone too hard, too fast. “Don’t ‘hmm’. What are you doing? What are you doing here?”

Alexander shrugs, and opens his mouth to gain some ground back, but Jefferson doesn’t let him. “No, don’t bullshit me, Hamilton.”

Alexander’s gut twists with nerves.

“You ambush me when I’m just about to go home, when I’m physically and mentally exhausted, and you… you’re acting nice.” Jefferson points a finger at him. “You’re trying to get something from me, but I’m not having any of that shit. Fuck off, leave me alone.”

Alexander doesn’t allow himself to panic, and lets his lips stretch into a small smile. “What could I possibly be trying to get from you, Thomas?”

The _Thomas_ bit was unplanned. The name rolls awkwardly over Alexander’s tongue.

But it douses the flames. Jefferson just finishes packing his back. “Any number of things,” he mutters, and Alexander knows that he can’t think of anything else to say.

Jefferson slings his messenger bag over his shoulder.

Alexander pounces on his vulnerability. Time’s running out: if Jefferson walks out that door, it’s all over. “Could it be possible that I just want to speak with you?”

Jefferson glares at him. “We both know the answer to that is no.”

“Why not?” Alexander blurts, and he hopes it doesn’t sound too desperate. He can’t help but laugh. It sounds a little too exasperated to be calm and chill. _Get it back, Alex. Take control. You have the floor here_. If there’s one thing Alexander knows how to do, it’s bullshit off the cuff. “I mean, Jesus, we argue all the time. Somehow, we never run out of things to argue about. There’s no such thing as an awkward silence between us. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

Well, maybe that’s not complete bullshit.

Jefferson frowns. “No. There’s plenty to argue about when the person you’re arguing with is a brainless asshole.”

Alexander knows that he has Jefferson hooked again, and he smiles. “There are few people I know who I never run out of things to talk about with.” That’s also true. It’s a little worrying, actually, how many revelations Alexander is making tonight.

“We don’t ‘talk’,” Jefferson says firmly. “We argue. We fight. We piss each other off. We do not ‘ _talk’_.” He throws his hands in the air. “Where is this coming from? Why don’t you just fuck off back to your little hobbit hole and let me go to bed?”

“There aren’t many other people who can match me, you know,” Alexander says, doing his best to ignore the thing about him being a hobbit. “I’m told I’m relentless. Unforgiving. A pain in the ass.”

“You’re all of those things,” Jefferson mutters.

“But so are you.”

Jefferson gives him a withering look. “Okay, good to know, Hamilton,” he drawls sarcastically. It’s a different kind of sarcasm, though. There isn’t as much heat. It’s more fed up than angry.

Alexander is on a roll. He feels like some kind of snake charmer. Which is appropriate, seeing as Jefferson is the slimiest, slipperiest snake that Alexander knows. “No, I don’t mean that negatively,” he says – although he does – and lets the words tumble from his mouth, his mind working in a blur. “We’re both relentless, unforgiving pains in the ass. Only we can tolerate each other.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jefferson sniffs. “Plenty of people tolerate me. More than that – people _like_ me.”

“Really?” Alexander says, raising an eyebrow. “How many people can you actually argue with, huh? Before they just give up and agree with you?”

Jefferson falls silent. A second ticks past, then two, and Jefferson just looks at Alexander, and then he leans against his desk, sighing. “So what’s your point, Hamilton? Okay, we’re both loud, we both like to argue with each other. We both get our way, sure. So?”

Oh, yes. This is a perfect segue. Alexander uses the chance to wander closer, and then sit beside Jefferson, close enough that their elbows graze. At first, he’s worried that Jefferson might pull away from the physical contact, but he doesn’t.

“So, why can’t we just _talk_ to each other?” Alexander asks.

“Why do you _want_ to talk to me?” Jefferson counters bewilderedly.

Alexander leaves the question open, instead choosing to look up at him. He makes it look like it’s to study his face, but it’s really to give Jefferson a chance to study his. He watches as Jefferson’s gaze flick between his eyes.

Jefferson’s eyes aren’t bad, either. They’re a nice brown. Not exactly ones you could gaze into – not because they’re not a nice enough brown, but because of whose eyes they are – but nice.

And then, jackpot: Jefferson’s eyes dart down to his lips. Half a moment passes, and then Jefferson looks away like he’s been electrocuted, and stands up, clearing his throat.

Alexander smiles to himself. After an entire day of pissing Jefferson off, he invades his personal space, keeping him from finishing his work and going home to sleep – and there Jefferson is, staring at Alexander’s lips like they’re teenagers on a first date.

And he’s blushing like they’re on a first date, too. “Well, this has been just fantastic,” he says, but the sarcasm isn’t nearly venomous enough to be cutting. “So worth the energy. But, unlike you, Hamilton, I actually need to sleep.”

“You’re not going home to sleep, though, are you?” Alexander says. Jefferson looks at him, and Alexander answers the unasked question by nodding to Jefferson’s messenger bag. “You got all that work to finish.”

“Which I would have finished today, if it wasn’t for you,” Jefferson grumbles.

Alexander’s smile is cheeky. He shrugs. “Guilty.”

Jefferson is watching him again, with that same look from before, and he swallows. Alexander just lets him stare, lets his weary brain tick.

Jefferson shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. Without another word, he begins to leave. Alexander panics for a moment, but then Jefferson stops and says, “Why did you come to talk to me tonight? Waste both of our time?”

Alexander takes a breath in, hesitating – should he work with the subtlety a little longer or just go for it? – before deciding that the risk of Jefferson actually leaving is too great to play any more games. So he stands up from the desk, and sidles up to Jefferson, almost toe-to-toe. “I can’t say for sure,” he replies. Which is a goddamn lie if he ever told one. “I like a challenge.”

He cocks his head to the side. “No, that’s not the right word. I like… to be kept on my toes. A change of scenery.”

Jefferson doesn’t step away. He’s not about to lean down and kiss Alexander, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to march out of the office, either. “What,” he says, “and being nice to me is a change of scenery?”

“Not arguing with you is a change of scenery,” Alexander amends. “Seeing you in a different light.” He gives Jefferson a slow smile that he knows is a knockout, and goes for gold. All or nothing, at this point. “I have to say, it’s much more flattering for you.”

Jefferson’s brain seems to short-circuit for a moment or two, and then he narrows his eyes. “What’s your game plan here, Hamilton?” he says softly. “Why are you doing this?”

Alexander can’t deny that right now, his hands are almost shaking with adrenaline. The prospect of sex is enough to get his heart going, yes, but if this doesn’t work out, then he’s screwed – in every sense but the biblical one, which is, arguably, the most important right now.

And the fact that Jefferson is insisting on questioning his motives doesn’t exactly give him a vote of confidence.

He sighs, and drops his gaze to Jefferson’s shirt. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and raises his hands, resting them on Jefferson’s chest.

Oh. Oh, damn. Jefferson feels… Wow.

He mentally shakes himself. _Don’t get distracted. You can’t afford to get distracted. Even if he does have a very nice chest_. “You keep asking that,” he says, focusing back on task. “And, again, I’ll respond with the same answer I’ve been giving you all night.” He looks up, into Jefferson’s eyes, and his pulse jumps at what he sees. Jefferson is almost utterly transfixed by him. There’s still a slight hesitation there, but the way Jefferson is gazing at him would be enough to make anyone’s stomach flutter with butterflies. “Why not?”

He hopes it doesn’t come out as breathless as it felt it did. Fucking imagine that. Jefferson making Alexander breathless, and not from screaming his head off.

This evening is certainly turning out to be interesting.

“I can think of a few reasons why,” Jefferson says, but Alexander can hear he’s already lost his mental battle.

He grins. “Oh, really? You gonna try to rationalise your way out of this one?”

“It wouldn’t take much.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Thomas,” Alexander says – because he knows that Jefferson is right. “We’re both stressed. We’re tired. We’re alone. And we are both relentless and unforgiving.” He quirks his eyebrows. “And you’re a pain – in my ass.”

Implying that he’s fucked himself to the thought of Thomas Jefferson was not part of the plan. It isn’t the truth, either. But hey, whatever works.

Jefferson sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “No,” he says, his voice firmer than before, and Alexander tries to ignore that niggling doubt in the back of his mind. “No, this makes no sense. You’re up to something.”

And he moves away. Alexander almost blurts out, “ _No_ ,” but he manages to hold back, watching Jefferson march to the office door, trying to frantically think of something to say, _anything_ , that would make him stay.

Alexander may still be trying to figure out exactly how turn Jefferson on, but, by God, he knows how to rile him up. “You’re a coward,” he calls.

“Fuck off,” Jefferson replies, reaching for the doorhandle.

 _Shit shit shit shit no–_ “Bet you’re not even good.”

Jefferson seizes up and whirls around. “You’re so fucking childish,” he snaps.

Relief washes through Alexander, and he breaks out into a grin. “Oh, _that’s_ what got you to turn around?” Thank God it did. “I had a whole bunch of insults ready.” He didn’t. “You’re too easy.” So far, that’s not proving to be strictly true.

Jefferson’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _I’m_ easy?” he exclaims. “You literally walked into my office to try to get me to sleep with you.”

Alexander sucks in air through his teeth. If that was meant to be an insult, it was a piss-poor one. Alexander deals with being called a slut and a whore on a regular basis. He wears it like a badge of honour. “And it’s _really_ pissing you off that you don’t know why, isn’t it? That you can’t figure it out?” And as he says the words, a realisation strikes him. That’s what’s holding Jefferson back; what’s also keeping him in the room. It’s that Alexander is outsmarting him, and he can’t stand being outsmarted. So he’s staying to try to figure this weird puzzle out.

Jefferson glares at him, and Alexander knows he’s hit the nail on the head. “How do you know I don’t know? I could just be pretending to be confused.”

“You would’ve said so if you knew.”

Jefferson sets his jaw, and then shakes his head, apparently letting the argument drop. _Wow_ , Alexander thinks. _He_ must _be tired_. “You know, just for the record, I am _very_ good.”

Alexander feels excitement stirring in his stomach, and he smiles. “Are you, now?” he says mildly.

“I earned myself a reputation, back in France,” Jefferson insists. So arguing isn’t worth Jefferson’s time, but keeping up his reputation is. “I could’ve had any woman I wanted.”

“Is that so?”

“I _did_ have any woman I wanted.”

“Sure.”

“The only reason I don’t now is because I choose not to.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” The thing is, Alexander knows that Jefferson is right – he’s heard the stories. Jefferson was definitely An American Slut in Paris.

“Fucking…” Jefferson throws his messenger bag to the ground, storming over to Alexander, who couldn’t wipe the wide smile off his face if he wanted to.

“Will you fucking _stop_?” Jefferson growls. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking…” He struggles for a word. “You’re a prick. A complete and utter prick. How does _anyone_ tolerate you? How do you have _any_ friends? I’d say that you paid them, but you don’t have any fucking money.”

Alexander bites his tongue, resisting the urge to fight back. There’s something liberating about it. Jefferson is yelling in his face, and it’s not an unusual position to be in, but it’s a completely new experience just letting the words wash over him.

“What do you even _do_ when you hole up here in this office?” Jefferson bursts. “Do you actually do anything worthwhile? Or do you just sit on Twitter like a fucking twelve-year-old? Or – or on whatever the fuck else you use? Do you just write sad little poems about how shitty your life is? Do you just sit there at your desk and jerk off? Do–”

He falls silent abruptly, his shoulders dropping. Alexander’s smile widens. Sure, it’s not where he expected Jefferson’s rant to go, but it means that Jefferson’s mind is where he wants it to be.

“Jesus Christ,” Jefferson says, his voice breaking. He’s not looking at Alexander, and he steps away, running a hand over his hair.

God, it’s intoxicating. This power that Alexander has over Jefferson. With the two of them, it’s always push and pull, both of them grappling for power, trying to snatch it from the other, but now… Jefferson’s just _handed_ it to Alexander. On a silver fucking platter. “Sometimes I do,” Alexander says, trying not to blush like an idiot at the admission of it. “I work, yeah, but I’m only human. Sometimes my mind gets distracted.”

“No,” Jefferson says weakly. “No, no, I don’t want to know.”

“And because there’s no one here,” Alexander continues, because he knows that this is the breaking point, this is it, he has to drag Jefferson over the edge now or it’ll never happen, “I can be as loud as I want. And God, I’m loud. I’m so loud. And I almost get off to the thought of having a dick in my mouth. Sometimes a clit, but mostly dick. There’s just something so satisfying about just being mouth-fucked. Just used like some whore. I love it. I crave it.”

Alexander is breathing hard. He’s never admitted that to anyone before, not to that extent and not at all outside the bedroom.

Well, Jefferson’s certainly responding to it, if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by. How odd, Alexander notices in the back of his mind, that although Jefferson doesn’t know it, the thing that he’s truly responded to is Alexander’s honesty, rather than his lies.

 _Now_ , Alexander thinks, and strides up to Jefferson, snatching his belt loops. “And you get so mad at me,” he grinds out, rubbing his thigh against Jefferson’s crotch. He revels in the strangled gasp that claws itself from Jefferson’s throat. “And sometimes you look like you want to _grab_ me,” Alexander continues, his heart galloping – he’s hard, too, completely drunk on this new power and the words he’s saying aren’t strictly true, but the more he babbles the more the starts to believe them himself, and suddenly he’s thinking of Jefferson in ways he’s never thought of before and it’s looking _very_ appealing. “Do it. Fucking use me, Thomas. Just think of how much you hate me, and how much I hate you, and just _fucking_ –”

And then Jefferson grabs his face and kisses him, and, just like all their arguments, it’s fiery and wild and probably not appropriate for the workplace. Alexander immediately starts trying to get Jefferson’s shirt off as fast he can. Once he’s done with the buttons, Jefferson pulls back to tear it off himself, and, although he’d be loathe to admit it, that makes Alexander a little weak in the knees.

And now Jefferson is shirtless.

Yep. His chest is just as nice as it had felt.

“Desk,” Jefferson demands, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly Alexander scrambles to obey him, hopping up onto his desk and spreading his legs.

Jefferson rolls his eyes as he heads over. “Fuck, you _are_ easy.”

Alexander has no comeback for that. “Fuck me till I can’t walk,” he pants, because, hey, if he’s going to lose his dignity, he may as well run the full mile, and he’s just realising now for the second time that night just how tall Jefferson is, and that’s making him a little desperate.

Why is he doing this again? Surely there’s a reason. He can’t think of it right now, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll remember it later.

Jefferson steps in between his legs and kisses him hard, biting his lip. Alexander lets out a filthy moan – shit, Jefferson’s right, he’s a fucking slut – and reaches down to palm at Jefferson’s cock. Jefferson lets out a moan of his own, and Alexander hates how hot he finds it.

Jefferson pulls away to tug Alexander’s shirt over his head and then shoves him flat onto his back, on top of pencils and pens and files and documents – and Alexander takes a moment to think that, as far as his plans go for getting what he wants, this is probably one of his better ones – and Jefferson starts fiddling with his belt.

It’s a sight Alexander never thought he’d see, but it’s one that makes his cock ache, and he whines impatiently.

“Stupid fucking fuck shitting…” Jefferson spits out, but finally manages to get the belt undone. Alexander doesn’t hesitate before lifting his hips so Jefferson can yank his trousers down to his ankles.

Jefferson’s looking even more dishevelled than before, and damn, it’s a good look for him. “Fuck, Hamilton, get your shoes off,” he gasps.

“Only if you get your pants off so I can see that cock of yours,” Alexander says, sitting up and toeing his shoes and socks off.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Jefferson counters, but does it anyway. It makes the hunger in Alexander grow to see that Jefferson is just as eager as he is. _Who’s easy now?_

They collide together again, and Alexander’s hands go to Jefferson’s ass. It is a _nice_ ass. Jefferson kisses like he fights, unrestrained and electric. Jefferson _arguing_ is one thing: he’s smug and proud, and he can keep his cool, which he often uses as some kind of superiority card over Alexander, who has no concept of the word ‘chill’. But Jefferson _fighting_ is a different thing altogether. Alexander doesn’t get to see it often, but when it happens, it’s like he’s been thrown into a hurricane. It’s simultaneously the worst thing in the world, and some of the best fun he’s ever had.

Alexander pushes Jefferson back, and Jefferson goes without resistance, although he doesn’t look happy about it. “What is it?”

“Get back,” Alexander says, and Jefferson shuffles back further – which pleases Alexander greatly. When he’s far back enough, Alexander slips off the desk and drops to his knees in front of Jefferson.

Alexander tells himself that this is part of the plan, that this is about giving Jefferson everything he’s got, anything to help sway things in his favour; but really, it’s been a while since he’s done anything with another human being instead of just his hand, and, he really just wants to be fucked.

He mouths at Jefferson’s cock through his boxers, and Jefferson moans, “Oh, fuck.”

Alexander stops, grinning up at him. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

“Hurry up and suck my dick so I don’t have to hear you talk,” Jefferson replies, and Alexander laughs.

“Yes, sir,” he says sarcastically, and pulls Jefferson’s boxers down.

Alexander’s first thought is that it’s big, although he guessed that earlier. Not big enough that it takes Alexander aback or makes him nervous in any way – although it would have to be _huge_ to do that – but definitely big.

And then it’s in his mouth. Jefferson’s hands go to his hair, and it’s good, but, surprisingly, it’s not hard enough. Alexander likes his hair to be pulled so hard that it hurts; he likes to be bruised and battered until his throat is raw either from screaming or from abuse.

They can lead up to that. The fact that this is happening at all is weird enough.

Alexander pauses to spit into his hand, and swallows Jefferson’s cock again, pumping with his hand whatever he can’t fit. Which isn’t a whole lot. If anything, he’s experienced.

He knows his limits, and he likes to push them. He almost gags in his efforts, and he moans. Jefferson’s hips jerk forward as he hisses, “Shit,” and, _yes_ , that’s what Alexander wants.

He pulls off, saliva dripping down his chin, and he continues to pump at Jefferson’s cock with his fist. “I meant it,” he says. “Fuck my mouth.”

Something he never thought he’d say to Jefferson. But hey, when in Rome.

“Actually?” Jefferson says, which takes Alexander by surprise. He thought Jefferson would leap at the opportunity to abuse Alexander in any way possible.

Jefferson’s eyes are a little glazed over and his chest his heaving and Alexander realises that he’s probably having trouble focusing on anything other than Alexander jerking him off.

Not his problem. He runs the flat of his tongue over the slit of Jefferson’s cock, and Jefferson sucks in a sharp breath, his hips bucking.

Alexander huffs. “Christ, of all times, _now_ is when you second-guess yourself?”

“I’m not second-guessing myself,” Jefferson snaps. Alexander twists his hand in just the right way, and a shudder runs down Jefferson’s spine, a delicious moan dripping from his lips, and Alexander has a sudden desire to record the sound of it for his spank bank. “Fuck, okay, fine, yes.”

 _If only winning an argument with you was this easy_ , Alexander thinks, but he doesn’t voice it. Probably best not to push his luck.

Instead, Alexander breathes out, and closes his eyes, wrapping his lips around Jefferson once again. Jefferson begins to rock into his mouth, and yes, yes, come on, fucking come _on_.

Alexander relaxes his throat, focusing on his breathing. His jaw aches, and he has to make an effort not to gag, but God, he loves it. Jefferson’s grip tightens in his hair, and he reaches down to palm at himself. He could get off to this, and he has before – sometimes his partner doesn’t even realise that he’s already come just from being mouth-fucked. All orgasms after that are just bonuses.

Jefferson’s thrusts grow a little erratic, and Alexander prepares himself for the inevitable explosion in his mouth, but it never comes. Jefferson tears himself away, spitting out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” and clenching his fists.

Alexander clears his throat, getting his breathing back under control, and wipes at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes and the spit around his mouth. “What?” he croaks. His loves it when his voice is hoarse.

Jefferson is looking very frustrated with himself, but also very determined, as he gestures violently to the desk. “I want to fuck you before I come,” he grunts.

Alexander moans, biting down on his bottom lip, digging the heel of his hand against his cock. “Oh my God,” he whimpers, and he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into, but _boy_ is he glad he did.

“Up,” Jefferson says urgently. “I have a…” He blanches. “Shit, I don’t have lube. Fuck.”

“I do,” Alexander blurts, reaching for his trousers, grabbing the condom and lube he put in his pocket.

“You came prepared,” Jefferson says with raised eyebrows.

“Be thankful I did,” Alexander says, joining Jefferson at the desk.

“Underwear off,” Jefferson says sharply, and Alexander kicks his boxers down his legs and away, then sitting on the desk. It’s cold on his ass, but that’s his last concern at the moment.

 _Jefferson does work at this desk_ , he thinks suddenly. _He’s gonna have to do work on this desk, knowing that my bare ass has been on it. Today is the best day of my life_.

Jefferson grabs the lube, and then pauses, and says, “Off the desk.”

Alexander does so before even wondering why. “What?”

Jefferson sits in his place, and then waves at him. “Get up.”

“Huh?”

“Sit on my lap, you fucking moron,” Jefferson drawls, sounding much more like the Jefferson that Alexander is familiar with. “I don’t do this often, I want to make it as easy for myself as possible.”

Alexander can’t help but give him a smug grin, climbing onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips. “I thought you said you had an endless line of women in France.”

“Yeah, women. Not men.”

“You disappointed in that department, did you?”

Jefferson tries to shove him off, taking Alexander off-guard, and Alexander grabs onto his shoulders with a yelp.

“It was by choice,” Jefferson humphs. “Now stop talking. You’re much more bearable that way.”

“Fine by me,” Alexander says, even though he wants to say _I could say the same about you_ , and wraps his arms around Jefferson’s neck, pressing their lips together. The action causes their dicks to brush, and both men moan into each other’s mouths. Jefferson’s arms curl around Alexander’s waist, bringing him closer, and Alexander begins to rock against him, and oh fuck, that feels so _good_.

Jefferson’s lips and tongue are intoxicating, and the friction against Alexander’s cock is incredible, and Alexander feels himself climbing, and then Jefferson mumbles against his mouth, “Stop it.”

Right. They still actually have to fuck. Alexander pulls back, and it takes every fibre in his body to stop his rocking. He bites his lip, pressing his forehead against Jefferson’s – which was just part of the plan, of course – his brow furrowed. Jesus, it’s hard, especially when the whole thing was just about to start getting _really_ good, but he manages it. A shudder goes through him, and he finally opens his eyes, gazing at Jefferson. “Please fuck me,” he whimpers, because otherwise he’s going to spontaneously combust.

Jefferson wordlessly reaches for the lube and Alexander watches eagerly as he slicks up his fingers. He presses a finger against Alexander’s hole, and Alexander nods earnestly. “Please, please, please.”

Oh, great. Now he’s begging.

Jefferson enters slowly, a knuckle at a time. He’s unexpectedly careful – although, by this point, it shouldn’t be unexpected. What’s the phrase? ‘Expect the unexpected’?

Alexander lets his head fall back, sighing happily – finally something is happening – and Jefferson leans forward, kissing Alexander’s neck. Alexander moans, and he catches himself smiling as he does so, even more so when Jefferson nips at where his neck meets his shoulder.

Alexander is loving life. Jefferson is working him open and kissing up his neck and along his jaw, and it feels amazing. Man, maybe he should get Jefferson’s number. For booty call purposes only, obviously. He still finds the man utterly insufferable.

Jefferson gradually adds a second finger, and then, after a while, a third. He’s taking his time, and while it feels great and is certainly the proper protocol for this kind of thing, it’s not the hot, angry burn that Alexander was expecting. That Alexander wants.

Eventually, half wondering what is taking Jefferson so damn long, Alexander opens his eyes, and realises, when Jefferson flushes dark, that Jefferson has been watching him. Like Alexander is some fucking porno, and Jefferson has been trying to commit him to memory.

It’s flattering, sure, but not his main focus. “You gonna fuck me now, or just keep watching me?”

Jefferson clears his throat, avoiding Alexander’s gaze. He eases his fingers from Alexander, and Alexander lets out a whine at the loss, but perks up again as Jefferson reaches for the condom and lube.

Alexander watches, heart beating rapidly, as Jefferson opens the condom and rolls it on himself, and slicks himself up with lube. Alexander doesn’t have to be asked to position himself above Jefferson, and then sits down on him. It’s easier than it normally is – Jefferson really worked him open well – but it still takes time, and still burns wonderfully. And then Alexander is fully seated, and God, he’s missed the feeling of being filled by a cock.

Jefferson looks like he’s in Heaven. Alexander rocks his hips, and Jefferson’s eyes go wide. He grips Alexander’s hips. “Fucking move,” he grunts out.

And that’s all the prompting needed. Alexander starts riding him, fucking himself deep on Jefferson’s dick. Jefferson lets out another one of those moans, closing his eyes, and Alexander starts kissing and biting at his neck, rocking as he does so. Jefferson lets out a breathless laugh.

But it’s not enough. It’s not rough enough. Alexander wants it to _hurt_. He didn’t come here for _meaningful sex_.

He slows to a stop, shaking his head. “ _What_?” Jefferson growls.

“I want more,” Alexander says, which is not the most descriptive thing he’s said, but it’s all he can say in explanation. He winces as he pulls himself off Jefferson and climbs off the desk. “I want you to _fuck_ me, Thomas,” he says. “I want to _bruise_.”

Jefferson stands up. “All right then, if you’re so fussy,” he tuts, waving to the desk. “Show me. I can’t know everything.”

Alexander stands in front of the desk, facing away. “Bend me over,” he says, because if this doesn’t happen soon then he’s going to have to do something drastic, “grab my hair, and _fuck_. _Me_.”

He almost jumps in surprise as he feels Jefferson grab his hair and bend him over, pressing his head into the desk. Jefferson slides into Alexander and, without giving him any time to adjust, starts fucking him against the desk.

Oh, God, _yes_. This is what Alexander has been craving all night. Words start falling from his mouth, and he has no idea what he’s saying but he knows it’s something along the lines of _Jesus fuck this feels so good fuck me fuck me oh God harder yes yes Thomas fuck you feel so good your cock feels so fucking good oh right oh oh yes oh_ and he’s quickly climbing to the edge, and he wants to sob it feels so good, and he’s gasping for breath and he knows he’s going to have bruises on his thighs tomorrow and he starts babbling _I’m so close oh God fuck yes yes please please please so close_ and then he feels Jefferson’s thrusts stutter to a stop, and Alexander hears Jefferson moan, “ _God, Alexander_.”

Alexander sobs, so close yet so far, but then Jefferson pulls out of him, making him cry out, and straightens him up, turning him around so they’re facing each other, and curls a fist around Alexander’s cock and pumping. Alexander has to brace himself on the desk, and he’s whimpering _Jefferson Jefferson fuck Thomas Thomas yes Thomas_ and thrusting up to meet Jefferson’s fist, and it doesn’t take long for him to come all over both of them like some teenager.

 _Well I’ll be damned_ , Alexander thinks as he struggles to catch his breath, leaning against Jefferson’s desk, idly aware of Jefferson sitting down beside him. _Jefferson actually cares about making sure the other person comes. What do you know._

Jefferson chucks the condom out. There’s a minute or two of silence filled with the sound of both of them panting and the smell of sex and sweat. There’s come drying on Alexander’s body, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it just then.

“That was something,” he says eventually, his voice weak.

Jefferson looks down at his hand, which is covered in Alexander’s come. “Uh, did you come prepared for _after_?”

Alexander shakes his head. “I didn’t really think that far ahead.” That was half-true. Part of him believed that this wouldn’t work. “That’s fine, I got you covered.” He takes Jefferson’s hand and licks the come from it. He’s well and truly used to tasting himself – an ex of his had a fetish for him tasting his own come – and it doesn’t bother him to clean Jefferson with his tongue.

 _Filing that as yet another new self-discovery_ , Alexander thinks.

Jefferson laughs. It’s a tired laugh, but genuine, and it suits him well. Makes him seem like less of a dick. “God, I should’ve guessed you’re a kinky son of a bitch.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it,” Alexander says. He looks to Jefferson’s torso. “I’m gonna lick your chest.”

Jefferson says nothing as Alexander runs his tongue over his chest.

He didn’t have to do it that way. He could have used his hand, or his shirt, or underwear. But, hey, if this was only gong to happen once, he may as well take every opportunity as it comes.

Once he’s done, he pulls Jefferson in for a slow, deep kiss. Jefferson doesn’t question him, just kisses him back, and that’s kinda hot. Alexander pulls back, just enough that their lips brush when he talks, to murmur, “Can you taste me?” It’s only half a joke.

When Jefferson doesn’t respond – but his eyes go dark with interest – Alexander pulls back further to look him in the face, grinning smugly. “Admit it,” he says. “I’m hot.”

“No,” Jefferson says, deadpan. “You’re a hideous bastard with the personality of a dead rock.”

And, somehow, the childish, half-baked insult doesn’t piss Alexander off like it normally does. “You’re probably gonna jerk off to the memory of this for years to come.” Alexander knows he is, anyway.

“You wish,” Jefferson says. “Too bad you’re shit.”

“Is that what you thought when you came, buried deep in my ass, moaning my name?”

“I did not moan your name.”

“You did, I heard you. You said ‘Alexander’.”

“ _You_ said ‘Thomas’.”

“I’ve been calling you Thomas all night–”

“It’d better only be for tonight. It’s weird, hearing you call me that.”

“–but _you_ called me _Alexander_ when you came.” In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to Alexander that that would be a weird thing to say, but upon reflection, Alexander realises it’s the only time that Jefferson has ever called him by his first name. Just as tonight is the only time that Alexander has called Jefferson ‘Thomas’.

“You don’t have proof,” Jefferson says flippantly. “And it’s not as if anyone will believe you when you tell them.”

“Tell them?” Alexander shakes his head. “Oh no. This is just between you and me. I’m not telling anyone.” How the fuck would either of them explain this one?

“Good,” Jefferson says. “Neither am I.” He cocks his head. “Is that the reason you came here tonight, being all nice? Because you wanted me to fuck you?”

Alexander’s heart jumps with nerves, but he shrugs. “I heard you could be rough. It’s been a while for me. That’s how I like it.”

“Where the fuck did you hear that?”

“I have connections.” And he’s back to lying through his teeth.

He stands up and starts collecting his clothing, leaving Jefferson’s mind whirring. “Wait, who _told you_?”

Alexander smirks.

He gets dressed and leaves without so much as a _See you tomorrow_. He goes to his office and collects his bag, and then heads on home. It’s a bit of a dampener to realise that Jefferson will be driving home in his _car_ like some fancy person, while Alexander has to catch a bus, his chest itchy and gross with dried come underneath his shirt, but he doesn’t let it phase him.

He almost bursts out laughing on the ride home. _I can’t believe it. I just got fucked by Thomas fucking Jefferson. Thomas fucking Jefferson fucked me. Jesus fucking Christ._

When he gets home, he has a swift shower, and then curls up in bed. _This debt plan is as good as gold_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus points for spotting the not-so-obscure 21 Chump Street reference. a million bonus points for recognising that Alexander calling Thomas 'An American Slut in Paris' is a play on the movie title 'An American Werewolf in Paris', which is the 1997 lesser-known and terribly made sequel to the cult classic horror/comedy movie 'An American Werewolf in London' (shoutout to my older brother for watching those movies when i was far too young to also be watching them, they slightly scarred me for life)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i guess this is a kind of epilogue? it's sorta an expansion on the paragraph in Love to Hate - i only really touch on how them banging in the middle of the night affects their relationship, but i decided i wanted to explore it a little more. anyway, enjoy xx

One of the things that Alexander did not consider when creating his great plan was the day after.

He wakes up and gets ready for work, and it’s as he’s bustling out the door, a piece of toast in his mouth and his laptop charger in his hand, that he realises he’s going to have to see Thomas Jefferson today.

The thought makes him freeze, but he can’t afford to stop for any longer than a moment – he’s running late.

So he puts it out of mind until he’s safely on the bus, and then he allows his mind to start screaming.

How is Jefferson going to behave? Are they going to just pretend it didn’t happen? Does Jefferson think that they’re going to have some kind of arrangement now where they meet up after hours? Is Jefferson – God forbid – going to actually start _liking_ Alexander now?

Alexander doesn’t think he’d be able to handle that.

Alexander runs through ways he can play this. If he plays it too cool, then Jefferson might realise that he was using him for more than just sex, and might get suspicious. If Alexander is too friendly, that’s going to arouse suspicion as well. And no _way_ is he going to pretend that he has some kind of crush on the guy.

Alexander doesn’t know what to do. He has no fucking idea. There’s too many dependent factors.

His heart pumping erratically, he steps off the bus. He makes a detour to the coffee shop nearby, and then heads into work, all the while thinking, _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_.

He doesn’t see Jefferson for the first hour or so. Their offices aren’t that close, and there would be no reason for them to cross paths unintentionally.

It doesn’t stop Alexander from being on edge.

And then comes the meeting.

It’s just a staff meeting, nothing too serious, but it’s the first time Alexander and Jefferson are in the same room together since last night.

Alexander has his eyes on his phone as he enters the room, and he takes a seat beside Angelica Schuyler, as he usually does. And then George Washington clears his throat, Alexander puts his phone away, and looks up.

Right at Jefferson, sitting opposite him.

And Jefferson is looking right at him.

There’s a few seconds of nothing. They just stare at each other. Alexander has no idea what Washington is saying.

And then Jefferson opens his mouth, and slowly mouths two words: _Fuck. You._

Alexander raises an eyebrow and gives him a look that says, _Well. You already did_.

Jefferson sets his jaw and sits back in his chair with a huff, looking to Washington, crossing one leg over the other. But Alexander can see him trying to suppress a smile.

The meeting almost goes without a hitch. Almost. Jefferson and Alexander are in the same room together, after all.

It begins with Washington saying, “And while we’re on the topic, just something about staying after hours.”

Alexander instantly feels his face go red, and he sneaks a glance at Jefferson, who has suddenly gone very still.

Washington gives the room a wry smile. “I know a few of you like to stay to work for longer, even after you’ve clocked off, and while I commend you for your work ethics, I have to draw the line.” He raises his eyebrows. “Go home, people. Take a break, see your families, get outside. You’re welcome to do more work at home, but once you clock off, I want you gone. The poor cleaners and security aren’t your babysitters. Understood?”

Alexander breathes a sigh of relief. That being said, he knows that he’s the exception to that rule.

“No exceptions.”

Alexander sits up straighter, looking to Washington. “What if it’s just a couple of times a week?”

Washington sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Alexander.”

“But–”

“No.”

“You’re not so special as to get out of every rule,” Jefferson mutters, only just loud enough for Alexander to hear, and Alexander rounds on him.

“Oh, you think I think _I’m_ special?” he snaps. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Excuse me?”

There’s a collective sigh of exasperation in the room. Just when everyone thought that they’d get through a meeting without a Hamilton/Jefferson bitch fight.

“You don’t pay attention to any rules,” Alexander says. “And I’ve seen you drive – you don’t even pay attention to road rules.”

“You don’t even have a car,” Jefferson sneers. “And who are you to talk about obeying rules? You just do what you please.”

“I do what it takes to get the job done.”

“That’s not the concern, Hamilton. You’re not some martyr. You just do whatever suits you and to hell with everyone else.”

“ _You_ were at the office last night too.” As soon as he says it, he knows he’s leapt onto rocky ground.

Jefferson gives him a long, hard stare. “To finish the work that you prevented me from completing yesterday.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t stop yourself from arguing with me.”

“You made it impossible for me to do any work!”

“That’s not my problem!”

“But it’s entirely _your fault_! You–” Jefferson’s face falls. “You did it on purpose.”

Alexander takes a moment to register that Jefferson has figured out a key part of his plan, and he curses himself for being so transparent. He sits back abruptly. “No I didn’t,” he says in a much smaller voice than before.

Jefferson laughs. “You did that _on purpose_. You _planned_ …” He trails off, looking very pleased with himself, and sits back in his chair, clearing his throat, and nods to Washington. “Carry on.”

Washington glances between them in confusion – at Jefferson’s smug smile and Alexander’s deer-in-headlights look – and spreads his hands. “Uh, okay,” he says. “I guess we can… continue.”

A slight chuckle runs through the room. Usually Alexander and Jefferson’s arguments go on for so long that the idea of ‘continuing’ is a fallacy.

When the meeting is adjourned, Alexander can’t decide if he wants to bolt from the room or confront Jefferson. He doesn’t get to choose; Jefferson grabs his shoulder before he can leave. “Hamilton.”

Alexander shrugs him off. “Don’t touch me.”

“I have a very witty comeback to that that I’m not going to say,” Jefferson replies.

“Good,” Alexander says, watching carefully as everyone filters from the room. The walls have ears in this place. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

Jefferson just tuts and rolls his eyes. “Cute. Anyway–”

“Nope,” Alexander says, turning and walking away. “Nope, nope, I’m not talking about this with you.”

“So it’s true?” Alexander can hear the smile in his voice.

“Fuck off, Jefferson,” he calls over his shoulder.

Jefferson catches up to him easily. _Stupid long legs_. “How long had you been planning that for? Do you really find it that hard to get some?”

Alexander stops abruptly and shushes him. But he’s relieved – although it’s a major hit to his pride, he’ll allow Jefferson to think that his one and only motive was to sleep with someone. “Shut up. What if someone overhears you?”

Jefferson smiles a wide smile. “You weren’t worried about that last night,” he murmurs.

Alexander huffs. “Well, I didn’t exactly hear any complaints from you about it.”

“Only time you won’t hear me complain about it, so I hope you enjoyed it.”

Alexander almost bites his tongue. He almost doesn’t say it. But he does. “I think we both know that I did.”

Jefferson raises his eyebrows, looking a little surprised by Alexander’s candour. He opens his mouth to say something, but Alexander cuts him off.

“And we both know you did too. So shut up.” He leans in closer and whispers, “Thomas.”

He makes sure to make a swift exit after that. Thankfully, Jefferson doesn’t try to have the last word.

 

The next day, they run into each other in the morning, both grabbing a coffee before work. In fact, Alexander lines up right behind Jefferson, and, because he’s looking at his phone, accidentally bumps into him.

“Morning,” Jefferson says in his stupid Southern drawl.

Alexander looks up from his phone, and says the first thing that pops into his head. “That’s a hideous tie.”

“At least I _have_ a tie.”

Alexander looks down at himself, and, realising that he, in fact, is not wearing a tie, grumbles, “Fuck.”

Jefferson chuckles. “God, you’re a mess.”

And then, surprising himself, Alexander chuckles, too. “Gee, thanks.”

“How do you even survive on a day-to-day basis?”

“Ramen and caffeine.”

Jefferson snorts. “Should’ve guessed.”

“At least I have some sense of fashion.”

“It doesn’t matter what I wear,” Jefferson says coolly. “The point is that it’s expensive.”

It’s Alexander’s turn to snort. “Fucking typical,” he mutters.

“Do you even sleep?” Jefferson asks, as if the question suddenly occurred to him. “You always look half-dead.”

“No, I’m far too busy having loads of sex with really hot people,” Alexander deadpans.

“Why, thank you.”

Alexander glares at him. “Do you wanna write an article about it and publish it in _The_   _New York Times_ , too?”

Jefferson rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to tell anyone, all right? I’d be up shit creek just as much as you.” He smirks. “But you didn’t deny that I’m hot.”

“What was it you said?” Alexander pauses in thought. “‘You’re a hideous bastard with the personality of a dead rock’? Something along those lines?”

Jefferson laughs. “Touché, Hamilton,” he says. “Touché.”

 

The dynamic between them has shifted. It’s something that Alexander hadn’t expected when he’d walked into that office in the wee hours of the morning and ridden Jefferson’s dick like the pathetic slut he is, but it certainly works for him. He can almost taste that debt plan.

They still argue and bicker, of course. They still despise each other. Seeing Jefferson’s face or his arrogant swagger makes Alexander want to punch him in the nose. But sometimes, when the arguments get really immature, instead of almost ending in a fistfight, one of them starts to laugh, and they instead end the argument with smiles on their faces, telling each other to burn in Hell or get hit by a sewage truck.

So when the next staff meeting rolls around a fortnight after the first one, they sit opposite each other, as normal. Washington starts the meeting, as normal. Everyone waits for the argument to start, as normal. And the argument starts, as normal. This time, about the use of pens.

“You have a fucking laptop,” Jefferson snaps. “You don’t need that many pens.”

“I’ll use however many pens as I like. Fuck you.”

“You just take them because you can’t afford to buy your own.”

“Why buy your own when you can just take the free ones here? Do you need a special fancy pen to write? Are normal office pens too lower-class for you, you royal prick?”

“It’s not about the pens,” Jefferson says. “It’s about how many you take. No one needs seven pens.”

“Maybe _I_ need seven pens.”

“What, to shove them up your ass?”

There’s a beat. A collective breath is held. Is Alexander about to explode? What’s he going to say next?

A ghost of a smile plays on the corners of Alexander’s lips. “Yeah, well, maybe. Who knows. I still have the right to take the fucking pens.”

Jefferson seems to be struggling to hide a smile of his own. “You’re a fucking waste of space and oxygen, Hamilton.”

“Do you want to borrow one of my pens? If you shove it up _your_ ass, it’ll match the pole that’s already up there.”

Jefferson rests his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “You’re a fucking joke,” he says, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Your shoes are a fucking joke,” Alexander says around a laugh of his own.

“An expensive joke.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

Alexander sits back down in his chair and flips Jefferson off. Jefferson sniggers.

There’s another pause. A confused pause.

“All right then,” Washington says, picking up where he left off.

Alexander glances at Jefferson, whose lips are still slightly upturned.

Alexander smiles to himself. _What a fucking asshole_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (frenemies/enemies who have sexual tension and maybe flirt a bit bUT THEY'RE STILL ENEMIES are my life)  
> check out Love to Hate if you're feeling like reading this again but from tjeff's pov! or not, that's cool. either way, hope you liked this one! xx

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Do I Want To Know?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255864) by [Mcd111](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mcd111/pseuds/Mcd111)




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